An Altered Tale of Vengeance
by YouLookLikeFOOD
Summary: "Soulmates, True Names, and the world about to die at the hands of a prophesied monster. Forget this. I need a nap. Wake me when the world has ended." Fantasy AU of the MCU and the Avenging Series. OCXLoki.


**Author's Note: Hey all! This is an AU I created for both the MCU and my own fanfic, The Avenging Series. (Starting with The Avenging of Natalie Frost!) If you have not read that fanfic, YOU DO NOT NEED TO. If you have, you can still enjoy this story! This whole story is an AU upon an AU, there is no such thing as canon, I have destroyed it in its entirety. :D (This is seriously an AU of my own fanfic and I EMBRACE THAT.)**

** This will be pretty OC-based, like the Avenging Series, so if that's not your thing, that's okay!**

** This is a fantasy AU; not quite sword-and-sorcery, since in some cases things will be a little more modern as opposed to medieval (particularly in speech patterns). Characters from the MCU (including characters that were not included in the original series (since that was written directly after the first Avengers movie) may be included here. **

** Also, I have NOT given up on finishing the fourth (and final) book of the Avenging Series. This was just for some added fun!**

** More info in Author's note at the end of the chapter; for now, please enjoy!**

* * *

The slave trade. As if I didn't hate it enough, here I was. Hating it more.

Hating being one of the _objects _up for sale.

Well, admittedly, I put an end to _that _part pretty quick. Not in a big, let's-start-a-rebellion attitude that spread among the other slaves to be sold, though that was not for lack of trying. I'd definitely _had _that attitude, but none of the other slaves-to-be had risen to it. Too broken. Too beaten down. I could understand it, I really could. People do what they have to in order to survive.

But none of this was acceptable in the slightest, and I hadn't quite been broken yet. Not for lack of trying on _their _part, either. Beatings, whippings, bruises and cuts and all around _ouches _littered my entire body, and my hands were tied much tighter than the others, the collar on my neck much stronger, leeching away my magic much more painfully than the others. It was a constant state of pain and I could barely move but as the auctioneer led me on stage I tried to bite his hand off anyway.

This display, I was pleased to see, made the crowd cautious. I had been told time and time again that this little 'aggressive' act would get me nowhere, that I would still sell for quite a hefty sum, seeing as there were plenty of owners who enjoyed beating out the aggression in their slaves. Breaking spirits was a game to some and a fetish to others; no matter the hate in my eyes and the fight in my body, I would be sold and broken eventually.

But it had been made pretty clear pretty quickly to me that this, while true, was only partially so. I had made enough of a fuss that the traders had decided- I heard through rumors, whispers, and eavesdropping- that if I did not sell immediately at this auction- as in, if there was no demand for me right away- I would be disposed of. It pleased me to no end that the collar on my neck had cost them quite a bit of money, as had the one I had shattered. I was by no means the strongest mage alive, and most of my abilities lied in healing, not combat, but I was tough when necessary. They might not know how or why- and I planned to keep it that way- but I had managed to break the weaker collar. I was almost sure I could break this one, too, but currently… well, currently it was a bit of a struggle. Magic could be temperamental, after all, and right now mine was throwing a tantrum.

The auctioneer started with a relatively low sum- approximately the cost of the collar. They'd barely break even with that- and started calling for bidders. I glared at the audience with pure hatred in my eyes. Vultures and scum, the lot of them, thinking they could buy a person's life. I'd have no part of it.

No matter what.

I wasn't entirely sure how I'd get out of it, to be honest. But I was determined to; and though escape looked like an unlikelier option by the second, death was not so unlikely. If I did not sell, I'd be wiped out. I was all right with that. Life and death stakes were nothing new, really. I was all right with dying, so long as I went down _fighting. _And they wouldn't get me to lie down quietly on their butcher's block.

But I would much rather die now than be sold as a slave and have my spirit broken over time. I didn't blame the slaves for _having _their spirits broken- how could I? Anyone would- and I had no delusions about the fact that I would end up just like them if I was with a cruel enough master. Pain wasn't like death; death was faster. Pain… pain was time-consuming, pain made you feel like _everything _was life or death, like _everything _was fear, and eventually you feared even that which you promised you wouldn't, and even that which you never feared before.

Not for me, thanks. The auctioneer reached for my collar and I tried for his hand again. He managed to pull his fingers back, but not before my teeth had taken some of the skin from them.

He cried out, softly, and immediately tried to laugh it off and exclaim that I had 'strength' and 'ferocity', which could be wonderful things if used correctly. But no one bid. No one even moved.

I grinned a wide, feral grin at the auctioneer as he eyeballed me carefully. A sudden pain lanced down my spine- that damn _collar- _and I gritted my teeth against the magical surge that sent agony through me. At the same time, the auctioneer kicked out the back of my knees. I ended up biting my lip, hard, on the way down, and blood flooded over my tongue, filling my mouth. He started again, laughing a little at how even the most feral slave could be broken with enough pain. The bid went lower as he leaned down to grab me by my hair and lift me to my feet again.

I spat into his face, watching with immense satisfaction as horror crossed his features, blood and saliva oozing down his nose and cheek. I turned and spat what little was left in my mouth at the crowd, satisfied by the way they parted.

It all went downhill for the auctioneer after that. He led me away, and I waved my bound hands at the crowd, all friendly-like, before raising my middle finger high into the air and listing off every foul word I knew in a heartless, cold tone. I knew the regalia of nobility when I saw it, I knew there were lords and ladies and all manner of sorts in that crowd, and I took immense satisfaction at the idea of one of two of them blanching at such foul language.

The traders were fuming. They flung me in a cage and made it clear that it was only until auction's end. The head trader snarled at me that I had just signed my own death warrant, and I sucked some blood out of the cut on my lip just so I could spit it towards him, as well. He stepped back in time, unfortunately, giving me a dark, hateful look.

I watched him go, and watched the auction carry on. Not because I wanted to, or even because I had to. My cage was small, barely a dog crate, but I could've turned away if I had to. And I wanted to, I truly did, but I couldn't. Not because of the morbidity of watching children wrenched from their mothers arms, little girls sold to burly men and the prettier slaves trying to hide their looks so they wouldn't have to understand the horror of having so many people stare at them with lustful eyes, clawing at each other and bidding higher and higher, fighting over them like wild dogs after a scrap of meat. Not because of the pain of watching boys being sold to high-labor jobs that would kill them early, strapping men being fought over by bored noblewomen or people who would send them to the mines, to use their muscles until they withered and died. All of it put the taste of blood in my mouth long after the cut had closed over, but I didn't turn away. Not because I couldn't, not because I didn't want to.

Because someone had to watch. Someone had to see, clearly, what all those bidding were refusing to; that people were being bought and sold and stripped away from their families, that father being torn apart from his little daughter, watching helpless, _fighting _helpless and getting nothing for it but more pain. That mother who had lost her son a few days ago- I was there, I had seen them kill him because his mind didn't work as clearly others, because he was 'too stupid to live', because he was 'an idiot, unable to be of any use', and they couldn't free him even though the mother had begged, because why would they, they would lose credit by doing that, and maybe it was a mercy, her daughter had said after it happened, because he would've died without them anyway. A hollow comfort that neither of them believed. They knew- like anyone in that carriage who had eyes- that the boy hadn't been stupid. His mind had worked perfectly clearly. His mind worked _differently. _But impairments of them mind- of any kind that couldn't be twisted into some kind of utility- meant a death sentence in the slave trade, and the mother hadn't spoken since that bone-chilling scream when they slit her son's throat.

And I watched as her daughter begged her to say something- even if it was only a goodbye, even if it was only a final 'I love you'- but as she was ripped from her mother's arms and handed over to a bored-looking nobleman, the mother uttered naught but silence.

And I watched.

Because someone had to.

When the auction finally ended, when the slaves were all sold, the traders counted their crimson coated silver and gold, their jewels dipped in blood, and I leaned back in my cage. It was uncomfortable, but it wouldn't last long anyway.

I stared at the sky. The sun was setting, and the stars were starting to appear in the sky, but it was not quite dark yet. People still bustled about here and there, wandering the market that sold cloth and jewels and finery and lives. I had always avoided slave markets. I'd known what I would do if I ever came into contact with one; free everyone in it or die trying. And seeing as dying would've helped very few people, I did my best to live and help a little more cautiously. It had always been painful. But I'd done what I could- volunteered to use my skills for anti-slave groups. Smiled at any slaves I saw and made their jobs easier, if I could. Donated money to those few people who would sneak into their markets with that donated money and buy as many slaves as they could afford, just so they could free them. Even beat the living daylights out of anyone who abused a slave in my eyesight.

It had never been enough then. It still wasn't enough now.

I heard the click of shoes coming closer. It wasn't the heavy tread of the head trader that I'd been expecting, but I still didn't look up for a moment. I didn't care enough to seem too interested.

When I did finally glance upwards, however, my eyebrows lifted high into my matted, dirty hair.

Interesting, that a member of the Odinson family be here, of all places.

I couldn't quite remember his name. Nobility was tricky like that; before I'd got caught by the traders, I'd tend to avoid missions for nobility. Not because the pay wasn't good- though often it wasn't, seeing as the richest people tended to be the stingiest, while the poorer ones would at least _try _to give a living wage, knowing you, like they, were doing what you had to in order to survive- but nobles could be hard to handle. You had to tiptoe around you words often, and heaven help you if you forgot even a single one of their names and titles. And I am terrible with names, so that worry was always prevalent in any mission I _did _take with them.

But the Odinson family was high up there; high enough that I knew most of them. They were the closest we had to 'kings' and 'princes' here. They were basically royalty, and I'd have to have been blind not to know what they looked like, and pretty forgetful not to know their names.

But I _am _forgetful, so that was understandable.

He eyed me carefully, his gaze sharp and shrewd. I knew his face, at least, but even that wasn't quite as common as you'd expect. Everyone knew Odin, of course; he was wise and proud and the head of his noble family, basically a king in and of himself, so that was obvious. And I knew Thor, naturally; the boisterous prince, as many often gave up on pretense and called them kings and princes regardless. He was a strong presence in the kingdom, and not just on coins and portraits and posters. He was a heralded warrior, a jovial being, and was well-known for taking strolls through market and dangerous area alike. So much so that even _I _had seen him before; once buying some meat in a well-traveled marketplace and once taking on group of monsters that I and my companions had been paid to defeat. It hadn't been as big a deal as you'd think; we'd simply joined his battle and, in the end, had split the profits with him. He'd not wanted to take the money, so in the end he'd paid for the group to have a nice meal, and we'd all shared ale in a nearby pub. I had watched from the sidelines, grinning at all the idiots that I had grown to like in our few days of travel together, but I hadn't joined in. I don't drink, though I had taken some of the food.

But this guy… well, he was more secretive. _Much _more secretive. Very few people had seen him, though it was rumored that he would leave the palace from time to time in whatever disguise necessary. That was a possibility; but so was the idea that he was a recluse. He did not tend to go to parties, and much of him remained a mystery; though I knew he was a sorcerer. How _powerful _he was, I didn't know, but I at least knew he _was _one.

The head trader seemed to have noticed my visitor. As I smiled up at the nobleman with all my teeth, wishing they were still bloodied so as to sufficiently creep him out, the trader walked over to him. I put some wildness in my eye as the trader half-bowed.

"Sir Odinson!" He exclaimed. "What a pleasure to-"

"What are you selling, merchant?" The man cut him off, his voice cold as ice. His eyes did not leave me. I quirked an eyebrow at him, taking him in for myself, as I had seen him doing to me. I knew I looked a mess, and it was rather hilarious the contrast between us; the dirt and grime and unpleasantness of my own skin and hair, with the fire-wild eyes behind those tangled locks, and the impeccable neatness and cleanliness of his own pale skin and flawless clothing, his hair slicked back in perfect order, not a strand out of place, none of it obscuring those green eyes that held all the chill and order of ice.

He watched me as I watched him and, _knowing _he was watching how I watched him, I purposely made my eyes flick up to the horns on his head.

They curled slightly from his head, slight curves that looked oddly majestic. Everyone knew about them, of course; they were the result of a spell gone wrong. They weren't unusual; many sorcerers had such decorations upon themselves, wings on their back or feet or heads, crystals growing from their skin, everything from extra eyes to purple blood, sorcery could leave strange marks and scars upon human beings. But his were the source of many a rumor, the origin of much gossip spread throughout the kingdom. What spell's backlash would give the crown prince horns so _exact _to those of a frost giant?

Most theories centered around experimentation of our enemies from another kingdom. But the gossip was often malicious and dangerous, dark whispers of things that could not possibly be. Even experimentation on a giant was a terrible thing to contemplate- they may have been our enemies, but such a thing could easily fall into the category of 'war crime' and was, generally speaking, highly frowned upon.

My eyes went back to his, and my lip quirked up. Normally, I'd have some issues with picking on someone's insecurity like this. Not so much in this situation, seeing as he was a noble, eyeing a slave. Seeing as he was a prince, looking down on me so coldly, like there was such a difference in the worth of our lives because of what we were.

He didn't say anything to me- he was waiting on the trader's response- but I saw his eyes frost over a little, which in turned warmed my heart. I smirked. Good. My heart would warm on the burning pyre of his pride.

"I'm a slaver, sir, as you can rightly see," The head trader said, being sure to keep his eyes down just enough to show respect, and on the nobleman just enough to convey honesty. What a crock of shit. "The auction for the day has finished, however; there's only this one left, and she's-"

He was stopped again as the noble held up a hand. He bent down slightly to examine me. "Where did you find this one?"

I blinked. I'd thought that this man was merely eyeing a curiosity, that he didn't care so much about anything involving the trade- after all, most everyone knew when the auctions were. If he was actively trying to purchase a slave, he would've come to the auction. He would've purchased one then.

It wasn't a slave that caught his eye, it seemed; that interest in his eye was directed towards _me. _

I wondered why, but smiled a hateful smile at him even while goosebumps threatened to take me over.

"A raid, sir," the trader answered. "By the coast of Lunia."

True enough, so I couldn't call him out for lying, though I was surprised he'd admitted it. Most people didn't like the idea of raids; that people could be stolen from their homes and family at random and sold into slavery. Admittedly not _exactly _what had happened to me; I'd been out with a party I'd only known for a while. We'd banded together to take an assignment fighting monsters and had encountered humanity, the greatest monster of all.

Everyone else had died fighting. I had been a little pissed I hadn't gotten the chance to do the same.

Bad luck, bad odds, one way or another, here I was in this cage, and I still didn't like the look this nobleman was giving me. Still, I stayed silent, watching him. It was good buildup to when I invariably tried to murder his face.

"Not from Lunia, though, I'd imagine," he said slowly, monitoring me. His eyes narrowed one. "Where from, then?" this question he directed at me.

It was clear he knew the answer to that, or at least thought he did. "Here," I said sweetly, smiling a deadly smile.

His eyes narrowed. "Those aren't Asgardian eyes."

"Nope," I agreed, and said no more. Being difficult was one of my many hobbies.

The noble turned to the trader, lifting a questioning eyebrow. He didn't have to voice that question aloud. "She has problems with aggression," the trader explained. "She did not sell because of them, and even we are having… difficulties. We were going to dispose of her, unless you are interested?" He didn't say the last part with too much hope, just as a verification that this was _not _the case. The noble's eyes returned to me. He examined me for a long moment.

"Take off its collar."

I blinked as the trader exclaimed, "But sir-"

"I will keep her power in check," the noble said in frosty tones. "Do not make me repeat myself."

The trader eyed him, then me, carefully. Eventually, he opened the crate. I made him drag me out, going as limp as a ragdoll. He couldn't very well beat me in front of a potential buyer, not in this scenario, at least; it would mean damaged goods, and I was already a tough sell. Eventually, the noble sighed an exasperated sigh, and I felt my limbs lock into place in a standing position before him. Not the easiest of spells, but not the toughest, either.

I considered fighting the second the collar was off, especially when the trader hissed, "Behave," in my ear while removing it, but my hands and feet were still bound, I wasn't quite strong enough to break the noble's hold on my body currently, and the instant the collar was off, I felt the noble's magic smother my own.

Powerful, then. My eyes narrowed on him, and I saw his widen just the slightest touch. After a moment of examining me- I felt his magic probe mine, felt it test my own abilities- he ordered the collar be put back on. I kept on a face that was half sneer, half smile, and all hate, but through it all I couldn't help but feel violated. Magic was so personal, could be so _private, _and he hadn't had my permission to examine mine. He'd just _done _it, thinking of himself as having that right and he _didn't. _

The noble examined me for another long moment before ordering, "Give me your name."

As if that phrasing wasn't telling as _hell. _Not 'what is your name'. Not 'I'm so-and-so, who are you?' I knew what he was asking, and no way in hell was I giving it. "Natalie Frost," I answered, fire burning in my heart. Not a lie, but not what he wanted.

My hate for him until this point had been perfunctory, casual. Something I did simply because of how he acted towards slaves, because of the arrogant air he exuded. I held that hate not because it was _personal- _perhaps it should've been, since he looked down on slaves and I was now a slave, but I still didn't view myself as one yet, I hadn't been broken, I hadn't been sold, I wasn't exactly free but as least I wasn't going to die at the hands of someone I'd had to call 'master'. The hate I'd had all day had been for others, not for me. It was no less strong than the hate I felt now- it might've even been stronger- but _this _hate? This was _personal as hell. _

I hated him. Because he demanded my name.

His eyes narrowed into thin slits. "You know full well that's not what I was asking," he said, his tone arctic.

"And you know full well what you asked will not be given," I returned, my voice tight with barely restrained rage. Can't a girl just die in peace without attracting the notice of some asshole noble like this?

His narrow eyes, though cold and calculating, now held a spark of anger. I was a slave. He was a noble. I was refusing him what he wanted, when I shouldn't have been able to do that. I should've been afraid. I should've been aware of my position in the world.

I could see that arrogance in his eyes and tried to reach forwards to claw them out. His magical hold on my body remained too strong, however, so instead I spit in his general direction. Spit, it seemed, was to be my weapon of choice in my dying days. Not what I would've imagined, but I could live with it.

I was delighted to see that while most of my spittle missed completely, a few drops landed on his cheek. The trader was immediately apologizing, saying I had terrible problems, maybe I wasn't the right fit for him, and perhaps he should come back to another auction, as those wares were not faulty, would not attempt to strike or humiliate him. I just grinned, a little drool still on my lips.

"I'll purchase her," he told the slaver, making both of our eyebrows go up. "So excuse me for a moment."

He moved suddenly, the combined force of his magic holding me and his hand that abruptly grabbed my throat throwing me bodily into the street, onto the ground. He hovered over me for a moment, half-crouched, half-kneeling, as I gasped for breath, winded by the sudden strike of street against my back. I didn't have the time to react before his hand was on my chest, palm pressed flat against it, muttering a spell under his breath.

I recognized the spell just as I got my first breath back into my lungs, and I cried out, "No!" But it was too late. My body wouldn't move anyway; I couldn't control it, not under the influence of his magic.

My back arched as he pulled the small ball of light from my chest. The colors did not surprise me; they were their typical shades of brown and blue, and when they died away I knew that they would fade into silver and black before vanishing. The dash of green that ran through it was new, but things like that happened from time to time. Not that most people checked it often enough to notice. The noble eyed the ball of light, reading the word inscribed there. True as I'd said, it was written in Asgardian text; my first language, the language of my first home. Just because I didn't look like I was from here didn't mean I wasn't.

The colors faded to silver and black before dying away completely, and the noble gave me a cruel, calculating smile. "'Shadowslayer,' hmm?" He murmured my true name with cold delight, having bested me, a prisoner, a person with no power.

Humiliation and hate washed through me as he stood, leaving me lying prone on the ground. Rage boiled my blood as he stepped up to the trader, already discussing payment. Buying my life as I lay helpless.

But the anger inside me, the pure molten _loathing, _it writhed in my insides, growing and spreading, morphing and changing, becoming white-hot and burning, burning, burning. It burned me from the inside out and all that anger, all that hate, all that pure unadulterated _fury _ran though me faster than light, faster than dark, stronger than shadow and earth.

Helpless?

Hardly.

I felt it explode out of me, my magic, my hate. The collar that had been returned to my neck shattered into pieces, so small they were fine as powder. The bonds tying me in place, magical and physical, snapped. The whiplash of power that ran through me shocked even the noble and the trader, knocking them aside. The noble had righted himself and turned to me just in time to see me place my hand on _his _chest, my lips already muttering the spell he had spoken moments before. Shock and terror in his eyes, he tried to step away, to back away from my hand, but I knew this spell as well as he clearly did, and my hand would not be removed from his chest without ripping his skin off with it. A knife appeared in his hand, perhaps to cut off mine, but I had already finished the spell.

The ball of light coaxed itself out of his chest and into my waiting fingers, and he brought his knife down to my wrist, but of course the blade shattered, breaking apart into thousands of pieces. He stared- more shock, more terror, more horror- as I held up his true name.

My eyes burned on his for only a second before I looked to the name.

His light shone with white and blue edges, but a vast majority of it was green and gold, interlaced with black. But the second I read the word inside of them, my heart stuttered in my chest.

His name wasn't a name.

Rather, it wasn't a _single _name. It happened sometimes, I had heard, but it was so rare I had never seen it. Granted, I knew only three others' true names in my lifetime- the names of my parents, and the name of the one I called sister- but multiple names was something I'd only heard of. Most people had one. Two was an extreme rarity.

He had _three. _

_Aiere_

_ Hae-loi_

_ Feiarkis_

A thread of blue danced around the names before they faded into a more muted gold and black, then vanished.

I stumbled back, the spell released from my hand. Those weren't Asgardian names. They were not in the language of Asgard. Meaning _he _was _not _an Asgardian. They were the names of his true heritage and lineage, as all true names are.

And they were _Jotun. _

I knew passable Jotun. I had been to many places in my journeys, fought many creatures, sentient and otherwise. I had been to Jotunheim. Their homeland was a world of ice and cold, and I could see that ice and cold in his eyes now. But my mind was working too quickly to focus on that. I'd been to Jotunheim, despite how our nations were at war. The quests I'd undertaken had demanded it. And it had demanded that I know quite a bit of the language.

I knew that Aiere meant _Liar. _

I knew that Hae-Loi meant _Half-Soul_

And I knew, above all of this, _I knew. _

That Feirakis meant _Shadowslayer. _

This man, this noble, he shared my true name.

_ How did he share my true name?_

The head trader was staring at the both of us. The instant the noble noticed him, however, he stopped staring at me. He turned to the man and with cold, brutal efficiency, threw a dagger into his heart.

He turned to me, likely intending to do the same. I was still stunned. I was fairly certain that the power I'd been exuding had died with my shock, that he could kill me now, if he wished to.

But I looked up at him. He looked at me, a tumult of emotions in his eyes despite the passiveness of his face. Shock, yes, and fear. I realized, just for a second, that I had held something terrible in my hand. Not just his true name- which was terrible enough; it could destroy him, obliterate him, ruin him- but a truth. A truth that could destroy, obliterate and ruin far more than just _him. _

I was so stunned by the meaning that I'd forgotten for a second that his name had been written in a _Jotun _dialect. This man, who was as close to royalty as Asgard had, was _not Asgardian. _

He was _Jotun. _

Born from the very land Asgard warred with.

Darkness crept in on the edge of my vision, and abruptly I found myself falling forwards. I landed on the ground, unable to think in time to catch myself, hitting it face-first.

_Ah, _I thought as I faded into unconsciousness. _Right. The true name spell __**is**__ a difficult one to use on someone else, isn't it? And I haven't eaten for a while. And I was exhausted._

It only made sense that I would pass out, I knew, but that was the last thing I knew before the world went black.

* * *

**A/N: Okay! This note will probably be pretty long, so please bear with me!**

** First: This story is NOT going to be as long as the original Avenging Series was (that includes the chapter length!). I don't know **_**how **_**long it's going to be, honestly. I started writing it for fun and suddenly ended up with 33K + words (obviously not all published yet!), and I figured it might get me back into the swing of writing the final book of the original series as well. Honestly, this was the complete and utter result of my random brain giving me random ideas, and since I loved it, I hoped that you might get some joy from it, too. **

** Second: This is going to be a **_**completely **_**different story, and a completely different **_**type **_**of story, from the original. (Which is why I say that you don't necessarily need to read the original series to read this one; everything is different, yet some things are strangely the same…) This won't exactly be the slow-burn it originally was; things may move a little faster, because I wanted to try something different, and because I didn't want to spend another seven years on a project and not even be finished with it. ^^; **

** Third: The 'mature' rating. Honestly, it's mostly for safety and language, but also I wanted to have the freedom to do whatever the heck I wanted with this, and that included some dark themes. Honestly, the violence **_**might **_**get bad enough to warrant the rating, so just be aware of that. Stay safe, everyone!**

** (Also there might be some sexual stuff, but for the most part that will be suggestive? That stuff will probably be around 'T' Rating stuff, nothing **_**too **_**serious, but again, I wanted to allow myself creative liberty; so if that changes, I'll let you know!) **

** Fourth: I **_**will, **_**obviously, be putting effort into this, but I'm not going to torture myself with making it perfect. This is all for fun, right?**

** All that said, thank you all for reading! I would greatly appreciate a review; I'd like to know if people would like to see more of this, and what they like/dislike about it. Have fun, and I hope you have a wonderful day!**


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